Facebook memories

It's this time of year when Facebook reminds me of that time.

6 years now, 6 years I really didn't think I'd have on some of those days. 6 years that have made it such a joy to be able to do everything and nothing that I do. 

And although the slight layer of fear persists that it could happen again, this year there has been a break through. This year I know about a drug and this year, maybe I'll be able to have a scan in a machine just 30 mins drive away. 

This year I'm feeling great. 

how she died

I wonder what it was like for my Gran, the one I never met, that my dad hardly knew. I wonder what her death was like. Dying of a brain tumour. 

I'm guessing not great. 

I suspect it's why my dad wasn't allowed to see her. 

He didn't talk about it. 

Nothing to report, he would say. 

My grandad didn't either. 

But I wonder. 

my friend...

A pal of mine is having brain surgery today. It's the 6 year anniversary that I was admitted into hospital for my second brain tumour. Somehow this has made me believe this is a good sign. The connection. 

She needs to make it through. 

I don't remember

I do.

I remember being so utterly helpless and so in need of someone to help me take a shit in a bed.

I remember only being able to piss a little bit at a time.

I remember being on my period and not being able to change my tampon or pad.

I remember not being able to feed myself.

I remember seeing the pity in their eyes

I remember the indifference in yours.

I remember being totally reliant on others, you. 

I won't ever forget. 

It's not ok that you don't remember. 

It's not ok to have forgotten.

It's not ok that you did it all so easily.

I don't want to be my dad.

I don't want to go through that again.

I don't want you to have found it so easy.

Then, a small glance of it. A moment where I got to care. We don't talk about it. 

I tell you I love you. I don't think you noticed.

I've walked away from a moment where I tried to connect, tried to get you to notice me. 

I often think we've lasted this long because you don't.  

There will always be a reason why I'm wrong. Why I didn't get it right. I'm used to it. I'll keep going. Probably because I do actually love you. You're really rather amazing and brilliant. I'm not the same as you. Never could be, never will be. 

Sometimes a new person sees me. 

Tonight you tried to laugh at that. It worked. I stopped myself being seen. That's ok, you worry that who I am isn't that great. You don't want me to embarrass myself. 

That's why I've hidden in the shower cubicle. That's why I'm only going to come out in a bit. That's why. 

happy birthday

It's been a hard week, I don't recall feeling this level of grief for a long time. When after his death it seemed easier. I think it's the feeling of being so impossibly far away from home. 

I've felt simply sad. 

stillness

It's the stillness I have here that makes it better for me I think.

Reflecting on my work like balance, seeing and hearing about the pace of the UK, the relentless pursuit of simply keeping up that schools have. There I felt guilt for staying still. For each break, for a moment to myself.

Not here. 

And that's how it should be. 

rare but treasure

It isn't often that I get to be useful in my experience of the medical world, but I could be tonight.

I got to say things that helped 

I wanted to give comfort and hope.

I think I did 

I'm evidence of survival and I'm evidence of being the watcher, and the watched. 

median age

49

So, about 6 years to go then. 

What should I do?

I know, live my life to the full. Maybe try and spend as much time with my daughter. Perhaps spend some time in another country, live life. Live Love Laugh.

And also... Be at the other end of that Bell curve... Love until I'm a healthy 90. 

the wood and the wire

Tonight I watched a new tribute to my dad.

It was beautiful.

It was real.

It was important. 

Belzutifan

Today on Facebook I saw that the drug belzutifan has been approved by the FDA.

I know it might be some time before it's approved by the UK, I know I might not be eligible to use it, but I hope so much that this means I can look forward to my life. A life that might not have so much surgery, one where I can take a tablet and avoid being cut open and all that that means. I'm crying, I feel like they're is a new layer of hope on my life.

I don't quite know what I'm feeling... Relief maybe, like a breath I've been holding can be let go. 

I know this is still just the beginning, how many times can you take it, is it permanent, will I find out I suspect. 

turning 43

I will turn 43 very soon. Closer to my desk by date. 10 to go. 

I've been on holiday and had a genuinely relaxing time. As we get closer to home the reality of work and real life has been creeping in. With that my dreams had changed. For the last few months I've dreamt my dad is still alive, I hug him and hold him. Confused by the diagnosis of death. Trying to figure out what we do 'legally' seeing as it's so patently obvious he's still alive. But the last two have been different. He's dead in those and I know it and I can't hold him. Maybe I'm just processing this. Maybe my mind wasn't ready to let go. I'm still not. I want to keep my chance to cuddle him. And properly, as it hurt him to squeeze too tight in the last years of his life. He couldn't really give me the huge hugs he did when I was younger. 

driving home for Christmas

Life can free so very different if you know you have a plan 

I'm hanging on the high hope of making it home for Christmas. 

I'm happy here, but I really feel I need to hold my mum. See my home without my dad in it. 

To know what I'm missing. 

To be really cold again. 

To then fly 'home'

is everything my dad?

I imagine that this is normal

Everything is my dad

scantastic

Great news, another 6 months. I don't trust it. Not in the way I would if it was the MRI the team, the same. But it'll do. Better then nothing at all.

And so here we go again. 

It's definitely rare to live like this. 

Recently people who know me have remarked on his well I cope. These are new people, but yes, good, I'm glad you noticed, yes, broadly I do. 

Here I am. 

Could I do it differently?

Yes.

I have and I could.

Should I? 

Time

Time

Time. 

I'm not as tolerant as I want to be

I'm feeling unnecessarily annoyed by the people around me panicking about getting their second vaccine.

It is about being able to travel in most cases. It doesn't feel like it's for good reason. 

And I'm trying to sort out a kidney scan and that is important. And so I'm grumpy and having to hide my irritation. 

The contrast of trying to get a medical thing... 

Humph

that footballer

Twitter seems full of people saying what an important reminder that a rich, physically fit white man collapsed in the middle of a match has reminded them what the important things in life are.

They really are sad and I'm glad they have had this prompt.

I assume he's doing a job he loves.

He had help instantly.

It nearly all disappeared before millions.

But why do you need this as a reminder. Keep your eyes and ears open and you'll see reasons to live life to the full everyday.

Is this a way to make reason out of the unexpected? 

Death here is frequent and unquestioned. 

planning a scan

I know that I'm due. My kidneys are on a 6month watch. I feel like I might be the one person who has remembered this. 

I'm having to have a big think about this one. I waited 'too long' last time but happily all was well. As well as it gets.

Now I have to think about what is worth me doing to get the next scan. What will it cost, where will I go? I don't know what my insurance will say. The last one felt like a bit of a once in a life time treat. 

Maybe not. Maybe I pay enough. Maybe.

What I do now is that it's playing on my mind. What is that cancer up to? 

Is it dormant, is it slow, should I get treatment? 

Questions with no answers. They are the most frustrating ones.

a day off

If I was in Norfolk right now I'd be busy. I'd be helping with the preparations. I'm not, I'm here. 

I'm taking my morning slowly. I decided not to go into work. 

I'm not very good at taking time off. I like working, I enjoy my job, but today I knew I needed to stop and be, feel all the things today. 

It's raining (highly unusual here) like the weather is caused by me and my mood. I'll know if that's true if the clouds break after I've said goodbye. 

Today I'm doing almost nothing this morning. I'm still in bed. I'm just letting this all be.

I'm remembering and feeling. 

My dad.

Always brought me a cup of tea on school mornings.

He took the dog got a walk.

He dressed well, had style.

Music meant a huge amount to him.

Best cook.

He never really complained. I don't remember him moaning. He didn't get cross about very much. He was more disappointed. 

He did art.

He was a teacher. 

Those who chose him as a friend loved his sense of humour. I must admit I didn't always get it. They induced a roll of the eyes and a groan from me more often than a laugh.

He was proud of me. 

He was up for an adventure.

He had great hats.

He liked Coventry football club.

He took on surgery like a fucking legend. 

I don't remember him ever really getting drunk. 

My god his curries were good. 

He was a solid, strong and quiet man who I will always love. 

He gave good advice. 

I feel lonely

 because, despite the love and care and the huge amount of support I am. 

My dad is dead, so is my brother. Just me with VHL. 

And of course there are others, but all mine have gone. 

Just me. 

Me. 

how brave will I be?

A friend sends me links to articles she thinks I will find interesting. I always do, this week she sent me one about a remarkable woman who had a spinal injury and what a amazing attitude she has and how well she is loving and living her life. 

I wondered if this was to remind me of how my dad lived his. I don't know if he loved it, he inspired so many people, apparently. Tributes coming in, what remarkable bravery, how wonderful he was... all that. I agree, of course. I thought at first it was her way of saying, "if you end up like your dad, you'll be good."

The tributes are really lovely, I enjoy reading them. 

I think everyone who has been in touch has told me how hard it must be being so far away. Yes, it is and yet it isn't. Honestly I'm getting on. That's what dad did, that's what I do. Everyone who has been through this kind of grief knows that it comes and goes, up and down, side and rounds about. Hits you when you don't expect it. I think that would be no different there than here. I'm also struck by how many people haven't mentioned that I might go the way he has gone, how many might be thinking it a little more acutely than they have for a while. I think about it often. I also worry about the bits of me that worked perfectly well for him that aren't for me. To be specific  - my kidneys. I bet only a very few worry about that. I don't remind them.